


about after

by biscuitswrites



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Sam Wilson is a Gift
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26727775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuitswrites/pseuds/biscuitswrites
Summary: the post endgame stucky fix it fic we deserve.Steve and Bucky won, and in classic cliche fashion, go on a road trip to try and figure out what the hell to do with themselves.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	1. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> excluding this intro and some chapters marked as having multiple parts, the chapters can be read as one shots with the theme of "road trip"   
> however, they are posted chronologically, and some ideas are mentioned in an earlier chapter before playing a big part in a later one.

“Get him the hell back!” 

No no no. He thought Steve was joking. He thought he would see.. something. See him. 

Everything is excruciatingly silent. Bucky wasn’t a good person, but he was trying to be better. He wasn’t a good person, but Steve came looking like maybe despite everything.. maybe he wanted him. 

The platform lights up, and Steve is standing there looking just how he did a minute ago, with a few extra scars and bags under his eyes. He steps off the platform, and Bucky tries to ignore the way his hands are shaking. He doesn’t notice that Steve’s are too. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he doesn’t try to play it off with a laugh. They’re walking towards each other at a speed that would be running to anyone else, and they stop in each other’s space, but they’re still straining towards each other. Steve's hand reaches up and drops to his side. 

“Steve,” Bucky’s eyes pass over his face, Steve is looking at the ground, “I thought you were…” 

Steve looks up, and steps towards him, giving Bucky time to move back. He doesn’t. They fall into each other’s arms, and neither knows who’s holding who. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” Steve’s head is buried in his shoulder. “I went and saw her, and she was happy, without me. Moved on like she was always telling me to.” Steve looks up, and takes Bucky’s face in his hands. “But it didn't matter you know?” He breathes out a shaky breath. “It shouldn’t’ve mattered.”

“Steve..” Bucky drops their foreheads together. 

“I’m so so sorry. Because it's you,” Bucky draws back to look at Steve’s face, “You’re..” it's still earnest. Just like always. Handsome lines, clean cut, drawn strong in truth. “You’re my end of the line. Please.” Steve’s voice cracks, but he feels like he’s never been more sure, like the cracks inside him driven by wedges of loss are finally being pulled together. 

Bucky straightens. “Okay.” And for the first time in a while, they feel like it might be.


	2. sort of eloped (take a chance)

Steve gives the shield to Sam, and they give their goodbyes to the rest, and without having much but each other, (and Steve’s considerable fortune in back pay) they leave. Without Tony and Nat, and with Sam and everyone else just a Skype away, there isn’t much tying them to anything but each other. They head north towards Canada, there’s less press there anyway. The shocked looking border officer lets them through without stopping to ask questions about the sketchy looking brunette with a baseball cap slumped in the passenger seat. 

They’re somewhere near Niagara Falls. They looked at going, but it was loud, and crowded, and they were tired. They’re at some national park swarming with moms refusing to let go of their children’s hands, screams a little too frantic when they call their names. Bucky's shoulders always tighten when one of them is a touch too shrill, and Steve moves closer to him wordlessly. Bucky can feel his presence in the backs of his knees, can feel it in his feet. Steve’s close enough to touch and close enough to brush his fingers against, but he doesn’t. He can feel a thick coil between them, but he's not sure whether Steve feels it too. 

If they got up and walked around a bit, Steve was pretty sure they could find some waterfalls, but they’re loath to go too far from the car, their only method of transport, and maybe escape. From what, neither of them are quite sure, but when they’re seated in a shitty diner in a booth facing the walls, Steve notices the way Bucky’s eyes don't settle, and he notices the way he can’t get his bouncing leg to sit still. They don’t get a second cup of coffee in those ones. 

But the sun is shining dappled light on their faces, and Steve stretches, catlike, back arching against the tree they’re leaning against. “Steve?” Bucky asks, voice low enough to rumble.

“Yeah?” He turns towards him, and the pattern of light coming through the trees is curling across Bucky’s neck. 

“I, I know we’ve sort of uh,” he trails off, gaze turning away. Steve remembers days in the compound trailing off in sentences, outdated words earning him scoffs with a bare effort to play them off as coughs. Bucky is still looking down, hair falling between them, and Steve clenches his hands. 

“Sort of eloped?” He tries to say it with a laugh, but it comes out as a hitch in his words. Bucky offers a thin smile. 

“Doesn’t that involve marriage?” Bucky’s staring at his hands, and oh. That’s what this is about. They left, and they’re with each other ‘till the end of the line. But what that means is blurred and hazy, what it might mean to the other, even more so. 

Steve knows that this isn't friendship, knew it when Bucky came off the docks with the sea sun playing across his shoulders. Knew it when he pressed his face in brown hair on the front. Knew it when he woke up alone in a new century, and his chest went hollow and his breath came hard, and he kept reaching from a train long after it could do anyone any help. 

He knows, with a bit more falter, Bucky feels a fraction of the same, but the way Steve feels fills him to his skin and fingernails, and a fraction could fill the Pacific. 

What neither of them knows is what a relationship could mean. What neither of them knows is what to do with themselves without a mission.

“Steve?” Bucky says. He was unsure, and Steve realized just how deep that feeling went. He wasn’t sure who he was, and he was putting it off for a chance. A chance to drive across the country and figure it out. To figure it out together. 

“I mean, we could try. If you wanted.” Steve’s the one blushing at his lap now, fair face turning red. 

“I remember when, when I first saw, you know, a couple. I was so shocked. Natasha must've thought I was mad, or something, because she pulled me aside and explained. I didn’t say anything at that point. It was new. But..” Steve shakes his head. “A weight was lifted off my shoulders. And I was thinking about you. About us. Just.. could you imagine?” He’s not shaking his head anymore, he’s just shaking, but neither can tell whether it’s from laughter or tears. 

He was pretty sure there were tears in his eyes. He was focusing on the light in the grass, trying to figure out how he could draw it. He wondered whether they could stop at an art store soon.

“Steve. Let’s try yeah? We have a chance, not to start over, but to start something, and I think that's more than either of us thought we were going to get.” He takes Steve’s hand gently with his flesh one, and Steve’s arms are around him faster than they have been lately, but Bucky barely stiffens before burying his face in his neck, tentatively holding his arm against his back.

After launching himself at him, Steve is practically sitting in Bucky’s lap, and he pulls his head up to look at him. He brushes Bucky’s hair behind his ear, calloused hand catching on faint stubble. He cups his face like he’s holding daisies, like he’s catching fireflies. 

He brushes his fingertips over Bucky’s eyebrows, his cheekbones, flitting them over the lines in his face. His own eyebrows are knitted in concentration, and Bucky’s arm is steadying at his back. The metal should be cool, but he can’t feel it through his shirt, and all he can feel is sunset warm, and Bucky, more striking than any scene of nature, more incandescent than the sun or any brushstroke of the heavens. 

He stops eventually, and in the timeline of them together, it might’ve been an eternity, but for the first time Steve is stretching that time instead of shortening it. He’s sitting there with his face in his hands, and the sun has moved behind them, and it's bringing out all the gold threaded into Bucky’s brown hair. 

Bucky brings up his hand to meet Steve’s, moving so he can kiss his palm. He leans his head into the touch, face resting in Steve’s hands. Bringing his hand back, he cradles it around the back of his neck, metal arm still carefully braced around his back, pulling him closer by the hip. 

Their faces are hovering impossibly together, and they kiss, barely a brush of their lips. And they both know that there’s more to come, and they’re pretty sure that's what this chance is, just a chance to be together, in whatever way they’ll let each other. 

So they kiss again, and they’ve both found something to do without a mission. 

Steve turns to wrap his legs around his waist, pressing him against the tree, hands still pulling his face to his. Bucky doesn’t push back. Just let’s Steve kiss against him and fill both their mouths with syrup. They break apart again, and this time, they just stay there, holding each other in this chance and the next. 

Eventually the sun dips down further, and Steve moves to sit beside him again, Bucky leaning his head on his shoulder, watching the sunset morph in front of them. It’s made up of layers and layers of gold on gold on gold on pale, and it's streaming and the sky might be splitting open, but Steve’s seen that in too many different ways, and it's not near this poetic, but that might be the company.

The sky goes a deep shade of blue. Steve turns it find it reflected in Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky turns then, catching him staring. He grins. “C’mon you lazy punk,” he says rolling his eyes, “we still need to find a motel.” He brushes off his pants and gets up.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “but I’m your punk.” Reaching his hand for help up. “Jerk.” Bucky takes his hand with his metal one, pulling Steve into his chest. Steve doesn’t let go of his hand, and they walk together to the car, feet falling in time. 

“You drove all day Steve,” Bucky pulls the keys out of Steve’s hand, “I got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, ‘course,” They climb in and pull out of the mostly empty parking lot. Steve grabs a bag of Doritos from the back seat and they lapse into comfortable silence. 

“Got any plans for where to go, or are we just driving until we find something?” 

“Bucky,” 

“Mm?” A passing lane opens up in front of them and he swerves around the truck in front of them. 

“Did you mean it?” 

“When I said I would..” 

“That,” Steve is staring out the window, but there’s nothing to stare at, just trees passing in blurs and black mountains in the distance. 

“Only if you want Stevie, I just, I don’t know. I thought it might be nice. Finally,” he struggles for the words for a second. “Finally solidifying what we’ve- I’ve- always known.” 

“We’ve.” Steve brushes the hair out of his eyes. “What we’ve always known. Let’s do it. I mean, what else do we have to lose?” Bucky’s hand is sitting on the gear shift, and Steve takes it, locking their fingers together. 

“Each other.” Bucky is looking straight ahead. 

“Well, I don’t think this’ll hurt anything there huh? Plus, we’ve done that before. Being apart just doesn’t seem to last for us.” 

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” 

//

“Sam! Sorry, the wifi in this motel is shit, give it a second.” Contrary to popular belief, Steve is decent with modern tech and has a laptop, but it’s amusing to watch Tony pull out his hair when he asks about “the google”. It was, at least.

Steve and Bucky grin at their friend once he unfreezes. He doesn’t look nearly as tired as he did last time, but they haven't been Skyping as much as they should. 

“How are things down there?” Sams in a grey tank top, and his goggles are sitting on top of his head. 

“Fine. I mean, everything’s in chaos, but we’re dealing. How’s your honeymoon?” He turns around from the camera to get a glass of water. 

“About that,” Steve is grinning so much Bucky can hear the smile in his voice. “We’re uh. We’re getting married. We’re engaged, at least.” Sam turns back around, slower than Steve thinks the news warrants. 

“That’s awesome! That’s great! You guys! Finally! Thank god.” Sam shakes his head and puts down his water, moving to sit in front of the camera. “When? Where? I just,” he shakes his head again, grinning “that’s awesome. I’m so happy for you guys. Truly.” 

“Thanks. Me and Steve, we really don’t want anything too big. We uh, didn’t even propose with a ring.” Bucky ignores Sam’s indignant squeak. “We were thinking, you could come up whenever you’re free and be both our best man? Men? Ah, who gives a shit.”

“We were just planning on signing some papers, nothing fancy. We could go out for drinks after.” Steve says. Sam is still blinking at them in shock. “Maybe if we ever settle we could come down to New York, invite,” Steve looks at Bucky, “everyone. Just not now.” 

“No, yeah. Yeah that’s great! Whatever you two want. Really. I’m just so happy I don’t have to deal with you two lovesick assholes making eyes at each other all the time.” 

“Nah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Bucky smirks. “You’ll get to deal with it more! Stevie, babydoll, Sams being mean.” He gives his best pout, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he pokes Bucky in the ribs, giggling. “Although,” he tries to put on his I-Am-Captain-America-And-I-Am-In-Charge-Here voice, but it doesn’t work as well when he’s laughing. “Although, if you ever,” he points a finger at the screen, Sam smothering his laughter in his fist, “ever, are mean to my future husband again, there will be hell to pay young man!” 

Bucky lies across Steve in a dramatic faint, ignoring Sam doubling over in laughter on the screen. “Oh, Stevie, you saved me again!” He kisses Steve all over his face, sitting up on top of him. 

“I’ll always be here to save you.” They laugh into each other’s mouths, and Sam smiles, and turns off the call, and drinks his glass of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> make sam a bigger carachter in your stucky fics 2020!!   
> i have.. multiple playlists for this fic but here's the most recently updated one:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7ncYLqvpO09AArpRcEVr5y?si=6XP0fJZxS1yKFJsESDYPjw


	3. motels & things gone unmentioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter!! ptsd, nightmare and graphic descriptions of a panic attack
> 
> I know it’s in the tags but I want y’all to stay safe

They’re going north east through Quebec to waste time and see the Atlantic before they go west, and it's been twelve hours since they started driving. They decide to pull into the next motel they see. It’s “Smiley inn” with a huge yellow Smiley face pasted on the side, true to the name. Steve cringes a bit, but they’re tired, and they’ve definitely slept in worse places. Their apartment used to be worse, never mind the war. 

There’s a lady sitting at the front desk, reading some romance novella with a cowboy on the front. She looks up when they walk in, creasing the page to save her spot. 

“How can I help you?” She speaks in a French tinted accent. Steve walks towards her, but Bucky lingers behind, peering around the room carefully. 

“Oh uh, we just need a room.” 

“One where we can see the car, preferably. We can move it in the lot if you need.” Bucky is on edge, shifting from foot to foot. Steve goes to his shield, before remembering it’s not there. He scratches the back of his neck instead. 

“Uh actually, one second please,” he turns to Bucky, moving them away from the desk. “Hey, you alright?” 

His eyes are still scanning around the room. “Yeah, fine. Fine. Just, bad, um, bad feeling.” 

“We can go somewhere else, we’re not far from town you know-“

“No. It’s fine. We’re both tired.” Steve’s eyes narrow, but he turns back to the lady- he checks her name tag- Mary. 

“Everything okay?” Steve’s not convinced that it is, but he turns to her with his best Captain America Golden Boy smile. He’ll ask again later. 

“Everything’s fine, thank you.” He taps Bucky’s hand before returning to her. 

“Okay well, will you be needing one bedroom or two?”

“One,” Steve says without thinking. He spins towards Bucky, face hot. “Uh I mean-“ 

“One is fine. We used to share a bed all the time, remember? Plus,” he narrows his eyes, “aren’t we kind of engaged?” Bucky takes his hand hesitantly, and Steve pushes his face into his shoulder, embarrassed. 

“Congratulations! It’s hard, after being apart for five years, but you two look like you’ll do just fine.” She’s clacking something into her keyboard and Bucky leans to whisper into Steve’s ear. 

“Five years is the least of our worries,” 

Steve smirks at that. 

“Well, I have it all ready for you, I just need your card info love.” Buckys set off again, tapping the back of Steve’s hand. He really needs to get him out of this lobby. He gives her what she needs to know, and they walk back towards the car in the dark parking lot, key in one hand, Bucky’s metal one in the other. 

“Okay, really. What’s wrong? You were wound up the whole time we were in there.” Bucky pulls his hand away, and Steve lets him. 

“I don’t know. Okay? And that’s worse, I think. Because I don’t know if it’s because.. Because,” he’s gasping for breath now, pushing away from Steve. Bucky backs away, running a hand through his hair, panting. “It’s so, so much worse.” His voice is getting louder, and he shuts his eyes what looks tight enough to hurt, and it probably does. “I don’t even know what’s real!” He yells, and his voice scrapes. “I can’t. I don’t,” he’s cut off by a round of sobs. Steve’s heart breaks in a million pieces, and all he wants is to take all this pain, and place it squarely on his own shoulders.

“I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.” He knows better than to approach Bucky, and talks soothingly from a few feet away, just loud enough to cross the distance between them. “Breathe with me Buck, c’mon,” Bucky is still gasping for breath, eyes shut, face wet with tears. “In, two, three, four. You’re doing so good. Out, two, three, four.” Bucky’s breathing is still erratic, cut through with sobs, but he takes a step toward Steve. He opens his eyes, tears still pouring out of them, eyes darting around until they focus on Steve, and he crumples. 

Steve can’t run towards Bucky, he knows that. It’ll make it worse. He knows that. But he feels how he felt in the quantum realm, like every molecule in his body was rearranging itself, but to strain towards Bucky, not the past. He takes a small step, and Bucky, rocking on the ground with his hands around his legs, sees. 

“I’m going to walk towards you, okay?” Bucky is still sobbing, curled up like a child. 

He sits down on the pavement, only a foot away from Bucky. He’s fairly sure Bucky can’t hear a word he’s saying, so he doesn’t try to say anything to calm down, not yet. Instead, he just talks. About Natasha and him after the snap, making dinner, learning to dance. About Sam, how he showed up at his door on the run, and how many crazy things they did. About Peggy and her endless wit and compassion. About Tony. About them, their apartment, small memories from before the war. 

He scooches closer again, close enough to be within arms reach. “C’mon, listen to me. Breathe with me. In two three four, hold two three four.” When he’s sure Bucky is watching, he slowly, slowly reaches out to rub his back, and he doesn’t yell, only flinches, moving his eyes dead ahead. Steve taps out the rhythm of their breathing. Once Bucky isn't sobbing, just crying, Steve asks whether he can hear him. Bucky doesn’t turn to look at him, just nods his head. 

“Okay. You don’t have to talk, just do it in your head, hmm? What are five things you can see?” 

He lifts up his head, brown hair falling in his eyes. He scans the parking lot, for a few seconds before nodding. 

“Great.” He’s still speaking softly, trying to slur his words just enough to take the edge off. “Four things you can feel?”

Bucky’s metal arm, clenched tightly around his leg, clicks a couple times, fingers releasing their death grip. It flits over the ground, his shirt, his boots, before gently reaching towards Steve, who moves towards him obligingly. They sit shoulder to shoulder, Steve braced on one arm, the other one still on Bucky’s back. Bucky’s left hand runs absentmindedly over Steve’s legs, the right one still clamped around his own.

“Three things you can hear,” Bucky pauses. 

“There’s uh, you breathing.” He cocks his head to the side. “An owl somewhere in those woods, and a car passing on the road.” He winces a bit, and Steve rubs his back.

“Yup, you’re doing so good. Two things you can smell?” 

“Oil, and your Doritos.” He wrinkles his nose, and in a different situation, Steve would’ve kissed it. 

“Last one, one thing you can taste.” Bucky puckers his mouth for a few seconds, before sitting up abruptly. 

“I can’t fucking taste anything. This is useless.” He snaps, wiping furiously at his eyes. 

“It’s not. The point was to get you grounded, and it did that, even if you can’t answer all the questions.” Steve says evenly.

“Oh,” Bucky relaxes back into Steve. “I’m sorry. I just get so..” 

“I know. It’s okay. I get it.” He rubs Bucky’s back. “I’m sorry.” 

“Shut up.” He looks at Steve for a few seconds, and notices the worry on his face. “I-”

“Don’t you dare say you’re fine. Or sorry.” 

“I’m,” he takes a long breath, holds it, and lets it out again. “Better. Tired. Let’s go back inside and go to sleep.” Steve doubts Bucky will be able to for a while, but he doesn’t mention it.

Steve kisses the side of his head instead. “Okay love. Let’s go to sleep. We don’t have to do it here, if you..” 

“Here wasn’t the point. It’s okay. Thanks for..” Bucky leans into Steve, “helping me. I don’t know what I’d-”

Steve kisses his cheek, and Bucky drops his head on his shoulder. “Don’t mention it. It’s okay to need help you know.” 

“So you’ve told me.” 

Steve can feel him shaking. He doesn’t mention that either.

//

Steve is woken up by Bucky thrashing beside him. He’s talking in Russian mostly. Steve’s trying to learn it, but it’s slow. He switches back to English for a few seconds.

“No- No. Not him. Not him!” 

“Bucky, Bucky!” He doesn’t shake him. Unless Bucky’s about to hurt himself, Steve’s learnt letting him wake up without touching him is better for everyone involved. 

“Steve?” He’s blinking up at him blearily. Steve settles back in beside him, instantly pulled into Bucky’s chest. 

“I’m right here. Right here.” He mumbles against him, arms awkwardly squashed between them.

“This motel, I-” Bucky sits up, pulling Steve with him. “We need to go. Right now.” Bucky swings his legs off the bed, but Steve stops him with an arm across his shoulders. 

“Buck? It’s one am,” Bucky turns around to look at him, and there are tears brimming his eyes, and more importantly, a terrified look filling them.

“Okay. Let’s go. I’ll leave some money on the counter.” They’re both packed already, Steve leaves a tip on the bed before they leave, and an envelope full of cash and a note under the door that says “Management”.

Steve insists on driving. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Not really. Keep driving.”

And so they do. 

The sky is lighter. And Bucky knows he won't be able to do this in the light, but he’s not sure whether he’s worried about seeing Steve or Steve seeing him. So he takes a deep breath. 

“That motel. I went there.” He’s pausing because he can't do this, and more importantly, he shouldn’t. 

“Went there?” But talking about it helps sort through the jumbled mess of his brain, and Steve said, he promised he was here. 

“You sure? You don’t have to listen,” Steve and his endless compassion feel too good to be true, but he remembers before the war, knows that that's just Steve. He also remembers Hydra. 

“I’m always here to listen. Whenever, whatever you need Buck.” 

He pauses. Steve means it. He takes in a breath. Talking about it helps, for some cruel reason. Knowing it helps doesn’t make it easier. “They,” he breathes out shakily, “I went there on a mission. They didn’t normally give the Winter Soldier the luxury of motels,” he laughs bitterly, and he’s thankful Steve’s eyes are on the road, “but I had some high ranking official with me, so.” Saying it all at once is hard, his skull is splitting open, and the combination of the nightmare and the memories is almost too much bear. It’s a writhing, physical thing, and it’s fogging up his vision. But if he stops, he doesn’t think he could ever pick it back up, and it would rot in his brain with everything else he never said. He presses his head against the mercifully cold window. 

“They found you. I was back with Hydra, and they,” he scratches at his flesh arm, and Steve takes his hand wordlessly without pulling his eyes off the road. “They found out where you were staying.” He doesn’t want to talk about this part. So he stops. But he’s talked about more of his nightmare then he would’ve before and that’s something. Right? The fog is clearing, at least. 

“I’m glad you felt you could talk about it.” Bucky chuckles dryly. “Really. I think it helps.” 

“I wish it didn’t. I hate that you’re right.” He sits up. The sky has gone from purple to pink, and he can see a sliver of sun in front of them. 

“I know. But it’s gotta happen occasionally, right?” They weren’t quite laughing, but the air felt lighter. 

“Occasionally. Once in a blue moon. Rarely. I’ll let it slide, just this once.” He doesn’t think he can eat, but Steves been driving for hours. He ignores the way his jaw aches from the way he’s clenching his teeth. 

So he suggests they stop at the next restaurant, and the smile Steve gives him takes the molten gold on the horizon, and puts it right in Bucky’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember this chapter hurt a lot to write,, I tried to diversify the symptoms of panic attacks cause they can be physically painful and make people irritable and aren’t always just hyperventilating


	4. mall- almost (learning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussions of PTSD

Bucky wakes up from his nap. He’s found it’s easier to sleep in the car, and either way, he doesn’t sleep much at night. 

He looks around, and after they turn a corner, he hears a muffled thump behind them. 

“Steve, I don’t think this’ll work for much longer.”

“What, uh what do you mean?” 

“No stupid, I meant what we have in the car. We need stuff. A map maybe. Some decent totes for the backseat.”

“Oh.” Steve smiles. “I thought you meant-” 

“I know what you thought, and it was stupid. You’re a dumbass.” 

Steve smacks him gently. “So you say.” 

“I would know. Having to save your sorry ass from its own dumbness for that many years. And counting. Back to my genius plan, let’s find a mall in the next town huh?” 

“Yeah. Let’s do that. This car could use.. a lot.”

They find one after a while, and walk in, feeling better about leaving the car out in such a busy place. They don’t park underground.

“Do you even have a plan for what we’re getting?” Says Steve as a wave of   
air conditioned air hits them. It’s unnervingly cold, and it tastes stale. 

“Of course! For example, step one, coffee.”

“And after that?” 

Bucky tsks. “Steve, you should know better. That’s an after coffee question.”

Steve stalls a bit at the amount of people. It’s more than he saw after the snap, that's for sure. But there’s something else there, itching at the back of his brain, and his mouth is going dry. 

“Steve, what’s wrong?” Bucky’s frowning, and Steve shakes his head. There’s nothing wrong.

“Nothing,” he keeps walking, and ignores the way his heart beat picks up the closer they get to the insane crowd of the food court. 

“It’s very much not nothing. I can read you too well for that bullshit.” 

“There’s just a lot of people, I’ll be fine. Really. It’s fine.” It has to be, because there’s no logical reason for Steve to be worried, and he’s stronger than this. 

“Steve you idiot, come on, let’s get out of here, find a map of town.” 

“Bucky, I’m fine. You wanted to come here!” Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“We both have PTSD, you absolute dumbass, no use in poking that bear for a fucking trip to the-” 

“Huh?” Steve turned to him, eyebrows narrowed. Bucky stares at him for a few seconds, equally confused. 

“That’s PTSD?” Steve is whispering, half at himself. 

“Steve..” He knew that Steve didn’t get the help he needed when he was diagnosed, but was he never even told the symptoms?

“Come on sweetheart, let’s take a walk.” He grabs his hand and Steve follows, and they step back out into warm sunshine, and they keep walking. Steve doesn’t think he could stand the amount of worry on Bucky’s face, and he certainly doesn’t warrant it. 

“So, Steve, what are the symptoms of PTSD?” 

“Um, it’s supposed to be different for everyone right?” Bucky nods. “They didn’t tell me much,” Steve ignores the way Bucky’s fingers tighten in his, and keeps staring ahead. “But the symptoms of PTSD are, panic attacks, nightmares. Flashbacks too I think. Sam says there’s other stuff in PTSD, but we never found time to talk about it. He’s the one that taught me the five senses thing.” Steve’s been getting quieter and quieter as he spoke. Bucky was silently fuming, but he dragged it from his voice when he responded. 

“Did they uh, did shield tell you anything else?” 

“You’re mad,” Steve is looking down now, fingers releasing even as Bucky holds on tighter. 

“Not at you.” He leans over to knock their heads together, still without turning to face each other. “Not at you. What else did they tell you?”

“They put me on some meds, right after the chitauri came to New York. I wasn’t sleeping at all, so they gave me some sort of sleeping pill. It made me groggy though, so I just stopped taking it after a while. That was it.” 

Bucky takes a deep breath. Steve does not need his anger, he can go yell about shield’s incompetence with Sam later. Even he knew more, with the limited self help he had managed to do in Bucharest, reading shitty paperbacks pressed to the back of shelves, time on library computers looking over his shoulder, trying to fill in the dry fuzz of his brain. Steve barely even had that. 

“Steve. Ever wonder why you get so nervous in crowds, why sometimes you reach for your shield when you’re turning a corner, and when it’s not there you try to wheel around? Or those days when you’re snappy and irritable and you don’t really know why?” 

“Not really. It’s just my fault, sorry you had to deal with it.” Steve shrugs, hand jostling in his. “I’ll try to be better about it.” Bucky tugs at his hand, stopping. 

“Steve. Please look at me.” Steve’s gaze hesitantly flicks up to his eyes, pleased to not find any pity there. “All of that is PTSD, and it’s not your fault. Okay?” 

“Feels like it is.” 

“I know. We’ll work on it together, okay?”

“Okay.” They don’t go back into the mall. 

//

They walk until they find a coffee shop, a Tim Horton’s filled with burly workers and truckers in a rush. 

He’s sipping his Iced Capp while they wait for Steve’s iced coffee. 

“Hmm. I think we should go buy ourselves phones, because I need to take a   
photo of Captain America drinking Tim Hortons. This is the best day of my life.” 

Steve laughs. “While you were looking at the doughnuts, I heard someone ask for a double double.” 

Bucky leans against Steve, shaking his head. “That’s so stupid. What does that even mean? I love it.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen as the lady behind the counter calls out another Iced Capp. “Steve..” 

“Hmm?” Steve has his iced coffee, and they walk out onto the pavement. 

Bucky points to his drink. “This is an Iced Capp.” 

Steve tilts his head. “Yes? It is?”

“And for a while,” 

Steve blushes. “Don’t you dare!” 

“You were an Iced Cap!” Bucky bursts out laughing at his own joke, hair falling out of his ponytail and onto his face. Steve shoves him gently, but he can't hide his smile. 

They’re close to the centre of town, and there’s an information centre nearby. Bucky grabs flyers off the walls of all the stores he takes an interest in, and Steve unfolds a map. 

“Okay. Best Buy ho,” Bucky points to it on the map. “You have a photographic memory, right?” 

“Um, yes?” Bucky grins. “Oh no. Why. What are you-”

Bucky grabs the map from his hand, putting it back on the shelf, waving cheerfully to the man at the desk. He takes Steve’s hand and keeps walking, ignoring his protests, and Steve has to jog slightly to keep up. He's swinging along behind him, and Steve trips over his feet trying to maneuver around an old man. 

“We aren’t going to use a single other map. Only,” Bucky uses his free hand to tap Steve’s forehead, “what’s up here.” 

“Please no. I’ll buy you another coffee. Just, no.” 

“Oh you will buy me another coffee, but you also won’t look at a map.” There’s a silver sculpture of a bear beside them. Steve barely stops to look at it for a second when Bucky yanks on his arm. 

“No time to waste! Busy, busy schedule.” They walk past a violently neon store, and Steve winces. 

“At least we have one.” He mutters. 

Bucky smirks at him. “No we don’t. What gave you that idea? But if we did, it would be busy.” 

“I love you, but that makes no sense.”

“Behold Best Buy! Wait hold on, did you just tell me you loved me?” 

“Uh yes?” Bucky doesn't respond. “Shit. We haven’t done that yet have we?”

“No, we definitely haven’t,” but he’s grinning at Steve's quickly reddening face.

“I can’t believe,” he runs a hand through his hair, “we’re engaged and we haven’t even said I love you?” He’s panicking, talking with his hands. 

Bucky grabs his face. “Calm down. I love you too.” 

“Oh thank god.” They kiss, but Bucky starts laughing, breaking it. 

“What?” Steve asks, but he's laughing too.

“I just, I can’t believe we got fucking engaged, and we hadn’t even said I love you.” 

“It is kinda stupid.” Says Steve. They're both shaking with laughter, and a bit of nerves. A lot of nerves. 

“It’s a lot stupid. Let’s go buy a phone.”

Steve laughs. “Let’s.” They walk in and he grabs Bucky’s metal hand, entertwining their fingers. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you.” 

Bucky glances up at him from where he’s fiddling with a phone that is way too big. What was even the point of a screen that big? 

“Not likely.” 

“Just checking.”

//

They both walk out with brand new iPhones and a data plan. Bucky tosses out their empty cups in a nearby trash can ringed with what looks like rice, but not before a photo shoot with Steve and his “Proudly Canadian” Tim Horton’s cup. 

“More coffee. I deserve it.” 

“And what, pray tell, did you do to deserve it?” But he's already pulling Bucky towards a shop. 

He doesn’t respond to that. Steve does. “Survived, I think. That’s enough.” Bucky smiles weakly at him, and Steve kisses him on the head.

“What’s this babe?” 

“Bubble tea. Natasha recommended it. We actually got it a few times but she always ordered for me.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have no idea what to get.” 

“What can I get for you today?” Asks the man behind the screen in front of them, still pasting a sticker on a cup. 

“We’ve never ordered bubble tea before, and we have no idea what to get.”

“How do two orignal milk teas with pearls sound? Those are the bubbles.” He smiles kindly, already typing it in. 

“That would be great! Large, please,” they pay and get their drinks. 

They’re both happily sipping their drinks, walking through the town hand in hand, when Bucky coughs. “What the hell was that?” 

“That was the pearl, idiot,” Steve says, laughing at him. 

“Hmf. It’s not funny. I could’ve died.” He pouts at Steve. 

“What a headline huh? Fearsome Winter Soldier Slain By Bubble Tea!”

“The next one would obviously be The Heroic Falcon Dies Of Laughter.” 

Steve giggles, and at least three heads turn. Bucky glares at all of them. “He just might huh?” 

“He so would. Probably at my own funeral, the show off.” 

“I’m glad you two warmed up to each other.” Steve hops over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Me too.” He sighs. “He’s kind of awesome.” 

Steve lights up like a little kid on christmas. “You do like him!” 

“Stevie, baby, I say this with all the love in my heart,” he grabs his face, “shut up.” Steve shoves him with his shoulder. 

“We should skype him tonight. I miss him. And I need to check in with Wanda.” 

“Yeah yeah, we will. I need to talk to Shuri too. We should get some clothes hmm? I’ve just been wearing yours, and they’re insanely tight. I don’t even know how that happens, I’m smaller than you. I’ve been having to wear hoodies constantly.” They’ve been washing the few things they brought with them whenever they find a washing machine in the places they’ve been staying, but having a couple extra things for when they can’t find one and end up doing it with a bar of the soap in the sink might be nice, as much as it reminds them of the not so good old days. 

“I have absolutely no objection to you wearing my clothes. In fact,” he turns to him, adjusting the strings on Bucky’s hoodie, “I encourage you to keep wearing them.” Bucky kisses him on the jaw, taking his hands in his own, revelling in the small pieces of affection they’re allowed to share in public now. 

“I know that. But consider, if I got my own clothes, you could steal mine.” 

Steve tilts his head, grinning, and Bucky’s world narrows like he's looking through a pinhole. “Point taken.” 

“Plus, honestly? Your style is shit. Like what, I die, and instead of taking all the stupid, I take all the fashion sense?” He starts walking away, shaking his head to clear his blush. 

“I feel like the key part of that sentence is you die. I kind of had bigger problems.” 

“Tsk tsk, excuses excuses. Today, we turn Captain America into the style icon the world deserves!” He pushes him into the nearest clothing store. 

“Firstly, new pants! Those do nothing for your ass.” Steve smiles into the air at something Bucky can’t see. 

“Watch it. That’s America’s ass.” 

They go through the stores, Bucky constantly piling Steve’s arms high with pants and shirts and jackets, before shoving him into a change room and sitting outside, playing on his new phone, asking Steve to just twirl one more time in whatever he's been wrangled into. He buys himself some clothes too, mostly shirts. A couple tank tops get thrown in too. A few pants. He’s planning on just skiving off of Steve’s jackets.

They walk out of a store with clean white walls, full of mannequins with weirdly prominent nipples.

“Okay, what the hell was up with those mannequins?” 

“No idea doll,” says Bucky laughing. “That was the last one though. I think now all we have to get are just a couple odds and ends for the car. Hey, we should get some old CDs!”

“Sounds great. But I’m choosing half. Because as bad as my fashion taste is, your music taste is atrocious.”

“Hey!” 

The sky is hanging low and overcast, and it might start raining soon, but Bucky doubts either of them will mind. 

Bucky is looking up at the sky, and Steve sees a pride flag in the window of a store. There’s more inside, and it looks like a dollar store from what he can tell. He pauses for a few seconds, looking inside. Bucky keeps walking though, not noticing it, and so does he. He’s been so happy with the affection, something they could never really do before the war, but he still has a nagging fear. So he keeps walking. Maybe later, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I said before, I’ll be updating this as I format the chapters because they’re all already written, but hopefully it will speed up a bit now :)


	5. creak in the wind driving (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing explicitly triggering, but they fight?

“I’m so glad we finally found a hotel. I was not looking forward to another night in the car.” Bucky flops down onto the bed, Steve sitting beside him, undoing the laces on his converse. 

“At least take off your shoes c’mon,” Steve shoves him off the bed, eagle spreading across it. Bucky just gets up and walks around. 

“Bucky..” Steve sighs. He’s checking the room, opening drawers and looking at corners. 

“I know. It’s just,” Bucky can’t really explain why he always needs to. But Bucky knows Steve doesn’t mind, and either way, it helps him sleep, and it’s harmless enough. 

“It’s okay.” Steve changes into a pair of Bucky’s sweatpants, but they might’ve been his originally. They both wear each other’s clothes interchangeably, and at this point, it’s hard to tell who’s are who's. Neither of them really care though, other than the novelty of sharing them, and the smell, of safety and home that they always found in each other. 

He pulls off his shirt and puts it in the backpack he brought in from the car, putting it on the floor. Bucky climbs into bed with him, putting on a pair of gym shorts. 

“I call big spoon. Scooch over.” He flicks off the light, crawling under the covers beside Steve, pulling them out from where they’re tucked around the edges. 

“No fair,” Steve grumbles, but he moves over anyways, Bucky’s breathing pushing into his back. His metal arm falls over his waist, flesh arm being used as a pillow. Steve pushes his legs back, twining them with Bucky’s. 

The curtains are heavy and dark, and the only light is the angry red casting out from the clock on the bedside table. It’s glinting on the plates in Bucky’s arm. Steve closes his eyes, comforted by Bucky’s warmth and lulled by his breathing. 

Bucky presses closer, grabbing Steve’s shirt where his arm is draped over his waist. Steve’s breathing has evened out, and he presses his face into Steve’s neck. He shuts his eyes, but his ears are ringing. He pushes his face further, until he can feel Steve’s heartbeat steady against his nose. 

Steve rolls towards him so they’re facing each other, and holds him against his chest, hand already moving to his long hair, other holding his waist. Bucky is still clutching Steve’s shirt, arms folded between them. 

Bucky moves his head, cheek pressed to his collarbone. He can smell sweat, and Doritos and underneath it, Steve, smelling like wind and a bit of Brooklyn, but it might be his imagination. Or maybe it’s Brooklyn that smells like Steve. 

//

Bucky doesn’t know how long it’s been. He thinks an hour or more. He’d say maybe minutes, but Steve has stopped playing with his hair, stopped threading it though his fingers, stopped humming whatever catchy song they heard on the radio that day. Steve doesn’t fall asleep quickly. 

After another while, Bucky rolls away, eyes attempting to find whatever he can in the darkness, fingers pulled away from Steve and drumming by his side. Adjusting the pillows, the blankets. 

Steve rolls towards him. Bucky’s night vision is enhanced enough to notice him blinking open his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He says, voice low. 

Steve knocks their heads together. “S’okay,” he yawns. “Can’t sleep? It’s late.” 

Bucky nods. 

Steve sits up, and gently pulls Bucky with him. “C’mon.” He leans off the bed and picks up his shoes. 

Bucky pulls on his hand. “No Steve, c’mon it's fine. Go back to bed.” Steve stops putting on his shoe. 

“Does it help?” The clocklight is casting sharp shadows across Steve’s face, cheekbones and jawline washed in red. Bucky tilts his face away from it with a finger. 

“I guess. But you don’t have to..” 

Steve leans forward to kiss him, and it’s so fast Bucky doesn’t have time to close his eyes before he’s pulling away. He does up his laces.   
“  
C’mon, get your shoes.” They don’t turn on the light, and even though they’ll be back in the morning to pay, they both take their bags. 

They’re waiting for the elevator, and there’s a mirror staring at them. Bucky drops his head into Steve’s chest, pressing against him, pulling him closer by the waist. They hear the elevator ding beside them, but neither of them move, other than closer to each other. 

“Thank you.” Whispers Bucky. 

“Don’t,” Steve says into his hair. Bucky untangles himself enough to push the button again, but immediately moves back into Steve, resting with his back against him. Steve puts his head on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around him gently, like he’ll startle if he does it too fast. 

This time, when the elevator comes, they get in. 

The front desk is empty, barred behind heavy shutters, and they can smell bleach. The floor is wet, and there’s a computer pinging softly somewhere. The lights are on in the lobby, and Bucky presses further into Steve at a camera peering out of a corner. 

There aren’t any lights in the parking lot, and there aren’t any on the road. The moon is a sliver, dangling in the sky in a smattering of stars that have never known the smog and bustle of cities. 

They walk across the dark parking lot, hands intertwined and locked in each other against the vastness of the universe, and they’re together, creating their own infinity. 

And Steve has been to space, but he remembers Bruce saying that the universe was finite, that it was still growing. And the space in his chest makes him wonder whether there are bigger infinities, because there’s a star in the space between them, blinking out on its own size, going nova. 

And the universe couldn’t hold a candle to them, because they’ve already found infinity in each other, and they’re still growing. 

//

Steve drives out of the parking lot, headlights cutting a line across the trees laid out in front of them. Bucky sleeps better in a moving car, they’ve realized. Steve thinks it's something about the moving, but from or to what, he can’t tell. Bucky thinks he could figure out exactly why he sleeps better in cars. He doesn’t. 

Steve drives out onto the highway. He’ll turn back at dawn or when Bucky falls asleep. 

Bucky counts the road signs, the trees, the few cars passing them. He closes his eyes, and the night has laid a blanket of silence over them. He can hear Steve breathing evenly beside him. Bucky shuts his eyes tighter. 

“I’m tired.” 

“Then go to sleep.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” And Steve does know, the kind of tired you feel in your bones, the kind that settles like a stone in your stomach. The kind of tired sleep won’t fix. It’s a tired that aches, and fills up the broken spaces, and creaks in the wind. 

He knows. They both do. 

Bucky’s fingers are still tapping at his sides. 

Steve starts humming. Neither of them can name the tune, it’s more of a memory than a song. It’s gentle, and it’s familiar, but Bucky can’t place why. He thinks it might be Steve and not the melody. But it sounds like a promise, and he unclenches his jaw. 

There’s a break in the song. “Goodnight love.” 

And Bucky would say it back, but Steve is humming again, and he’s really, really tired. 

When he wakes up, they’re in a parking lot, and Steve is staring at the ceiling in the passenger seat. According to the dash, it’s almost 9 am. It’s late. He squints at the sunlight flooding the car and wonders why Steve didn’t wake him up earlier. 

“Did you sleep?” He asks, rolling out his metal shoulder. 

“I’m fine.”

Bucky frowns. Steve’s voice is tighter than it should be this early. “That’s not what I asked.”

Steve sighs. “I know what you asked. And I’m fine. Really.” He shrugs his shoulders to emphasize his point, but when he turns toward the sun, he winces. 

“You’re not. Steve. You drove all day, and all night. You should’ve woken me. We should’ve gone back to the hotel,” Bucky crosses his arms, staring out the window, trying to figure out where they are. It’s just more trees, more trucks just like the rest of this stupid province. 

“I am fine! You needed to sleep more than me.” He waves his arms. Bucky still can’t find a street sign.

“You being fine isn’t the point of this. The point is, I took your help. Right?” 

“We’ve been over this, it’s fine-” Steve is reaching out now, but Bucky turns stubbornly back to the window. 

“We have been over that. What we haven’t been over, is you accepting my help. Is you letting me help you.” Bucky turns to Steve now, and there’s an urgency in his eyes that wasn’t there before. 

“I don’t-”

“What? Need my help? You tell me nearly every day that there’s nothing wrong with needing help, and what? The same doesn’t apply to you? Give me a break.” Steve needs him just as much as he needs him. He knows it. He ignores the way his throat is closing up. He turns away again. 

“I don’t need you babying me!” Yells Steve. He regrets it immediately, colour draining from his face. “Buck-”

Bucky’s eyes darken. “And I don’t need you pitying me,” he snarls. He shoves open the car door. “For the record, I never babied you. Not once. I kept you alive. Learn the difference.” It’s a low voice, an even tone, and it’s so much worse than any spur of the moment yelling could ever be. It’s deliberate. He walks out, and he tells himself it’s just to clear his head. He walks faster so Steve can’t see the way his hands are shaking, and it’s not from anger this time. Behind him, Steve drops his head into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the parking lot scene is one of my faves if only because of my infinity poetry, but i remember the fight was hell to write.. :(


	6. apologies and breakfast (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> don’t think anything for TWs..? lmk if i missed something!!

Steve shouldn’t have said that. If he didn’t know as soon as the words left his mouth, he knows it now, from the ache in his chest. Bucky never babied him. He knows that, he knew it when he said it.

When he was younger things were bad. Just, bad is the only word he can really use to describe it. The only word he wants to use. He’s put all that in a different box. As much as he romanticizes the summer heat of Brooklyn, the simplicity, he, and everyone else different, were much worse off. 

His eyes snap up. Bucky has stopped walking, and is standing along the tree line. He needs to apologize. He really really needs to apologize. His chest hurts, and its rattling in his throat with every breath. Stretching out his fingers does nothing to stop them from shaking. He fumbles with the car door. 

Bucky doesn’t turn when he walks up to him. “Hey,” says Steve. “Listen, I-” he runs his hands through his hair, “I didn’t mean what I said. And I’m sorry. Okay?” He moves towards Bucky, lifting his face up with his hands. “I’m sorry, you never, not once.” 

Bucky is crying, there are tears rolling over Steve’s hands, and he brushes them away with his thumbs. “Hey, hey c’mon.” Steve’s voice is thick with emotion, and there are tears brimming his eyes, he’s blinking so much everything is happening in a bad flipbook. 

“Why did you come back?” asks Bucky, and it’s plain. Open. There’s nothing there except vulnerability. 

“For you.” And Steve thinks those words could be made of steel, of vibranium. Those will be the words carved on his tombstone, etched by his own dying hand. For you, for you. Anything for you. It’s all for you. 

“You wouldn’t of had to deal with me.”

“I don’t deal with you.”

“You do. You put up with me. Why?” Bucky’s backed away, out of Steve’s reach. 

“Why do deal with me? Or rather, why did you? Why save me all those years ago?” Steve stays rooted in place, crossing his arms. 

“I didn’t deal with you. You needed me, and I needed you.” 

Steve is trying to catch Bucky’s eyes, trying to stare a hole through his skull. “Exactly.” 

“It’s different.”  
“It’s not.” 

“I don’t deserve it.”

Steve shakes his head. “You do.” 

“Why can’t you admit you’d be happier there?” 

“Why can’t you see I could never be happy anywhere without you?” He's yelling again. He takes in a breath. “Bucky. I came back for you.”

“Steve?” Bucky is stepping back into his space, and Steve barely has time to open his arms before Bucky is leaping at him. 

“Hey, hey,” Bucky is pressing his face into his shoulder, and he can feel tears through his shirt. They slump to the ground. “I’m sorry about what I said. I’m so so sorry.” Steve wraps his arms tightly around him. 

“Shut up punk,” grumbles Bucky against his collar bone, curving himself closer. He wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. “I’m sorry too.” And its so quiet Bucky might’ve assumed Steve hadn’t heard, if he hadn’t wrapped himself around him tighter, if that was even possible. 

There’s not much else to say that they don’t already know. So they sit there, holding each other. Steve rubbing Bucky’s back, Bucky pressing long kisses into Steve’s shoulder.

“Are we okay?” says Steve shakily. 

Bucky nods. “‘Course we are.” He leans back. “We are, right?” 

Steve tries to laugh. “All okay on this end. Just checking.” 

Bucky slowly lowers himself back into his arms. “We do need to talk though. About, you know.” 

“I didn’t mean what I said.” Steve leans back to look at Bucky’s face. “I didn’t.”

“I know. But you do need to take better care of yourself.” 

“And you need to realize that I don’t pity you, and that you are deserving of this.” 

Bucky leans into his shoulder. “See? We need to talk.” Steve runs a hand through Bucky’s tangled hair. 

“I really really don’t like fighting with you.”His voice is strained, and he presses his face into Bucky’s hair, pulling his hand away to press him closer. 

Bucky shifts into the space between Steve’s shoulder and neck. “I really really don’t like fighting with you too.” 

//

Steve starts to open the door when Bucky tugs on his hand. “Steve.” Steve’s eyes aren’t focusing. Bucky frowns at the way he’s blinking. “Steve. I’m driving, remember?” 

“Oh.” Steve shakes his head, trying to clear it. “Oh. Yeah. Right.” He smiles with the bottom half of his face at the kiss on the side of his cheek before walking to the other door. 

“I’m going to find us someplace for breakfast. Okay?” 

“Okay. The hotel is that way.” 

Bucky starts driving in the right direction, pulling down the sun visors and opening his windows. 

He ties his hair back with one hand. Steve is staring out the window, hands squished up against it in a makeshift pillow. He doesn’t point out the pillows on the backseat. 

Bucky pulls into an IHOP, and Steve wrinkles his nose. “Pancakes? Really?” 

“Hey! I like them!” Bucky gets out of the car while Steve rolls his eyes behind him.

“I know. It’s terrifying.” 

They get a table by a huge floor to ceiling window with no blinds, and the sun is streaming in and covering the restaurant all the way to the far wall, cream paint turning gold.

“So, what can I get for you two?” the waiter asks, notepad already in hand. 

“Just a coffee for me thanks,” says Steve. 

“Cream?”

“Please,”

“And for you?”

“Steve. Steve did you know IHOP makes milk shakes?” Bucky’s pointing excitedly at the menu. 

Steve grins. “Can’t say that I did.” He turns back to the waiter. “He’ll have a milkshake, I’m assuming.”

He jots something down. “What type?” 

Bucky hums. “Mint Oreo sounds fancy!” 

Steve shakes his head, scrunching his face. “You’re disgusting. I hate you so much.” 

The waiter smirks and leaves their table. “Well you like pineapple on pizza. And I still love you. So.” 

“Hmf. Love you too.”

The waiter comes back with their drinks and takes their order, and the silence that settles is no longer comfortable.

Steve’s fingers are tapping the table, and hes fiddling with the empty creamer cups, trying to build a tower. 

“Stevie?” Bucky needs to talk to him. They have to sort this out. They’ll be fine if they don’t, and that’s the part that scares him. They could sweep this under the rug and live out the rest of their days together. But he knows it would always be simmering under the surface. It would rattle the cupboards each time they opened them, and eventually neither would care enough to fix it. They need to talk about this. 

He really doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up. 

“Okay. We can’t fight,” Bucky’s eyes look green in the sunlight they’re in, and Steve leans closer. “We can't get mad.” 

Bucky nods, leaning back in the cracked booth and crossing his arms. 

“Okay.” Steve scratches his neck. “So. You’re mad because I don’t take care of myself.” 

Bucky reads the standee on the table, Coffee crisp Coffee! Only for a limited time! 

“Yes. Among other things.”

Steve spreads his hands, trying to ignore the woman eavesdropping in the booth behind them. “Such as?” 

Bucky flicks the standee to the side. Steve always hated that shade of orange. 

“You always trying to take care of me.” 

Steve leans back too. “Bucky. You weren’t sleeping. I was supposed to roll over and say okay, see you in the morning?” 

Bucky tugs on his hair. “No,” he growls, “you were supposed to stop and sleep yourself once I was asleep. Or I’ll just stop letting you help me.” 

Steve refills his coffee from the pot on the table, tapping out the dregs of the creamer. “Okay. I-” he swirls around his coffee, “-I hear that. I get how it would feel if you just started refusing help.” His eyes narrow. 

“So you’re going to take care of yourself now right?” Bucky takes his hand under the table. “That’s where this should be going.” 

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound convinced.” Bucky squeezes his hand. 

“It’s fine. I’m convinced.” Steve stubbornly looks away, twirling the creamer through his fingers. 

“Nope.” Bucky squeezes his hand again, eyes not moving from Steve’s face. 

Steve breathes in. “Before the war,” he glares at the lady behind them, “I was a burden. Right? People wanted me dead. But then I got the chance to prove everyone wrong, and to repay you, and,” he swallows. “I wasn’t strong enough then. I’m worried I’m not strong enough now.” 

“Steve. It wasn’t your fault. And everyone, no matter how strong, needs help.” 

“I know.” Steve finally squeezes his hand back. “I’m going to take care of myself. And you. You deserve it.” He looks up at his eyes, and he moves closer to see their colours. Blue green in the golden light. “You’re a good person Buck,” he murmurs. 

“Not really. But you understand that.” 

Steve pushes forward over the booth, leaning forward so their faces are hovering across from each other’s. “I guess we both do. But we’re good to each other and for each other, and we try to be good to other people. And thats enough.” 

Their food comes, and they make light jokes, light conversation. They eat with only one hand, and don’t break apart until they’re paying the bill. 

//

That night, they don’t look for a hotel. Steve pulls out the air mattress while Bucky folds down the backseat. Steve pushes it in, throwing the blankets on top. He climbs in, opening his arms. “C’mon.” 

Bucky slides in, and Steve puts his arm around him, holding up his phone.

“Hey Buck, turn on the light?” He does, before settling back into Steve’s chest, moving up to see what’s on his phone. 

“No. We are not calling Sam like this.” 

Steve kisses his hair. “What? Cuddling? Move if you want, but I’m comfortable. Plus, we said we’d call yesterday.” 

“Yeah yeah,” The call trills a couple times before Sam picks up. 

“Hey! How’s the great white north?” He’s somewhere in his apartement, a rare moment of peace. 

Steve smiles. “Fine. How’s New York?” 

Sam shakes his head. “It’s well, you know. We don’t deal with things well. And the world, that’s another story.”

“Chaos?” Says Bucky. 

“Chaos. You know how many democratically elected officials think they should be immediately reinstated after a five year blip?” 

“Too many, I’d assume,” says Steve. 

Bucky pouts. “But I’m sure the mighty falcon,” he wiggles his fingers in a terrible imitation of a bird flying, “will set them straight.” He smiles cheekily. 

“You are so full of shit Barnes. Steve, can you pinch him for me?” Steve does, pinching his stomach. 

“‘Course Sam. Anything for you.” He grins, and tries to kiss Bucky’s cheek, thwarted by Bucky’s whole palm on his face. 

“No kisses for traitors.” 

“Oh, however has the mighty Winter Sodier come to this!” Sam laughs at Bucky’s glare, undercut by his hand still pushing back Steve’s face. 

“Oh you-” He pulls his hand back, “did you just lick me!” 

Sam cackles. “Ha, take that Barnes.” 

Steve leans in for a kiss, and Bucky obliges this time. “You’re disgusting.”

“Says the one who ordered a mint Oreo IHOP milkshake.” 

Sam’s eyes widen. “You what?”

Steve looks straight into the camera. “Unbelievable. Oh, Sam? Before I forget, you still have ins at the DMV, right?” 

“Yes?” 

Steve looks down. “Could you by any chance, find us both a therapist we could meet over video call?” He looks over at Bucky. “We have some.. stuff to figure out.” 

Sam smiles sadly. “Yeah, sure. Glad you two are getting some help. Oh, did I tell you..” 

The rest of the conversation passes without much of interest, But Bucky kisses Steve gently once the camera’s . 

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ofc i’m posting this immediately i’m not That mean!! 
> 
> i just find completely fluffy fics unrealistic?? pretty sure this is the only time they fight and they make up immediately so... i hope it’s okay

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fic I wrote at the very start of quarantine before I had an ao3 acc, so I figured might as well post it now that I do :))


End file.
